After M asks me to move in, I start discussing all matters relating to the move with a furrowed brow, concentrating on the practical and financial side of things. I'm afraid that if I think about the romantic side of moving in, about choosing paint or planting beans in our garden, I might float up into the sky like a balloon. So I'm all economics and common sense: "I think we should let out our flats and rent somewhere together."

"Good idea," says M.

Next day, I search the internet for two-bedroom rentals in London. They're extortionately expensive: four times as much as I'm paying for my mortgage. I talk to M.

"Maybe we should let our flats and buy somewhere together," he says.

"That sounds a great idea," I say. "Keeping our flats is smart. Selling both and buying a place together would be more hardcore than getting married." M gives me a funny look and I wonder whether I've just said "I'd like to get married" out loud, but the moment passes.

M asks his accountant for details on buy-to-let. But each time we start to talk about it, I get bored. I imagine calls from tenants about broken boilers, and feel oppressed by it. Next day, I broach the subject once more: "I don't want to be a landlady."

"Oh, OK. Well, my accountant in fact worked out the numbers on selling both flats and buying together." He passes me a piece of paper with a number on it; a number so big it has three bedrooms and outside space.